


Amortentia

by empress_ofbloodshed



Category: Throne of Glass Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: F/F, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-23
Updated: 2020-10-23
Packaged: 2021-03-09 05:00:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,845
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27499066
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/empress_ofbloodshed/pseuds/empress_ofbloodshed
Summary: Alrighty first things first little disclaimer I have never read any of the harry potter books. I’ve seen most? of the movies but thats about it. So if anything is super duper wrong please don’t give me shit for it I’m tryin here this takes lots of research on my partbut please enjoy my contribution to spooky season with some of our boys :)
Relationships: Lorcan Salvaterre/Rowan Whitethorn, Manon Blackbeak/Elide Lochan
Kudos: 6





	Amortentia

Tucked away in a forgotten Slytherin common room lit with one-too-many dripping candelabras and glowing faerie lights, Rowan bickered with Aelin and Lorcan. Dorian tried to read the directions for proper potion-making aloud, trying to help Rowan prove a point that what Aelin and Lorcan were doing was dangerous. Then the door opened and in walked Manon, kissing Elide sweetly before flopping into a massive nest of pillows on the floor. Her familiar Abraxos was a Hebridean Black dragon who huffed a snort of smoke before coiling himself into a ball and tucking his tail over his nose like a cat.

Elide waved her wand and murmured a spell under her breath, the potions book floating out of Dorian’s hands and into hers. She nibbled on the tip of her wand, scanning the page.

“You know this could lose us a whole month’s worth of points, right?” she asked. Aelin rolled her eyes, ever the reckless Gryffindor. “Amortentia is forbidden on the grounds of Hogwarts.”

Lorcan snatched the book from her, slamming it on the table so hard the glass bottles he and Fenrys stole from the locked supply hall rattled. “That’s like the whole point, Ellie,” he scowled. “Whitethorn, what the hell does this mean?”

“You know if you actually bothered to study for your potions class, you would know,” Rowan replied, his words edged with attitude. He was frustrated and tired.

“Don’t give me that shit.” Lorcan dragged Rowan over to the table by the end of his blue and bronze tie. “Explain … please.” The please was added as an afterthought. Aelin stepped up to the table on the other side of Rowan, effectively pinning him there.

With a heavy sigh, Rowan picked up the heavy tome. In his hands its whining settled into an annoyed huff of breath and flipping of pages. The page with the recipe for Amortentia was marked with a silver ribbon. The letters danced around on the page as if taunting him. Rowan pressed the tip of his wand into the brittle page stained with liquid splatters and muttered the incantation for _freeze_ and _reveal_ under his breath. The letters pouted before sorting themselves back into their respective words. He murmured a silent thanks before reading the recipe.

“Ingredients,” he began, reading aloud, “Ashwinder egg, rose thorn, peppermint, powdered moonstone and pearl dust. Have those?”

Aelin nodded.

He began to read part one of the recipe: “Pour Standard Potioning Water into a gold cauldron and place over a very low flame. Bruise the Peppermint Flower heads with a mortar and pestle and sprinkle into the lukewarm water. Take whole Peppermint Leaves and drop into the water. Add Powdered Moonstone, one tbs at a time, stirring anticlockwise three times between each spoonful. While the potion is still moving, sprinkle Rose Thorns into the water and leave to rest for an hour. Remove from heat and cover with a silk cloth in a dark place to steep.”

“Let it rest for an hour?” Fenrys whined from his corner where Rowan thought he was napping. “I wanted this to be done tonight.”

Rowan shook his head, exasperated. Maybe if Fenrys paid attention in his classes, he would know that Amortentia took nine days to fully brew. And that was only if it was done correctly.

“Now for the most important part. Who exactly are we going to use this on?” Rowan asked. “And how are you going to get a lock of their hair or a drop of blood?”

Aelin and Fenrys shared a conspiratorial look, biting their lips to hide their smiles. “You leave that to us, Whitethorn,” she declared.

Terrified didn’t even begin to describe the fear coiling in Rowan’s gut.

☩ ☩ ☩

Each of them took turns over the next seven days to slip into their secret spot to stir the potion seven times anticlockwise and then cover it. On the ninth day of brewing, the cauldron was placed over a low flame.

Within a matter of minutes, all of them were piled into the room. With the exception of Lorcan.

Manon gently lowered the eggs one at a time into the cauldron, making sure to stir without direction in between each one. Then they waited for the steam. But first they took precautions to cast small protection spells that neutralized their sense of smell, not wanting to ruin their unique and very forbidden surprise.

The steam was the most important part.

“There it is!” Fenrys whisper-shouted, pointing at the curling wisps of white floating from the golden cauldron.

Rowan, having been nominated because of his steady hands, ladeled equal amounts into small vials which he quickly stoppered. Everyone got one, making sure to keep it warm and keep the steam contained. Then Aelin threw a lock of black hair into what remained of the potion with a snicker. Stirring it, she waited until the color turned pearlescent before pouring it into a small glass jar she could easily conceal in her robes.

After the Amortentia was finished, they sat in a circle holding their vials. Fenrys went first, complaining that he didn’t smell anything. By his whining, they couldn’t tell if he was lying or not. Dorian sniffed his then flushed crimson, shaking his head and refusing to say anything when asked about it. Manon and Elide both smelled each other’s perfume, slinking off to curl up on their nest of pillows.

The door banged open with a gust of cold air and the hissing of a cat. Lorcan Salvaterre set his cat on a chair, taking the last vial and flopping down on the other side of the circle, across from Rowan.

“Praise Hellas, Whitethorn, did you dump the entire fucking bottle of Wintery Pine on yourself when you got dressed?” he grumbled. “Open a godsdamned window.”

Rowan could smell his cedar and rain and Dragon Barrel brandy scent from where he was sitting, a good distance away. He remembered the time Lorcan stole a bottle of the brandy and snuck it up to the tower, passing the bottle between the two of them. It burned more than a normal brandy, felt like the dangerous kiss of fire but the warmth inside him was exquisite.

“Uh, Lorcan, you do know what we just brewed, right?” Aelin asked, her golden brows furrowing.

Lorcan frowned. They could all see when the realization hit him. Hard. His lips formed a perfect circle as he breathed out a soft _oh_. An set of onyx eyes settled on Rowan and he tried to shrink away from Lorcan’s gaze.

Needing something to do, Rowan inspected the vial of shimmering liquid in his hands. Then he saw the single crack in the glass, just big enough to allow the steam to escape.

This entire time, he hadn’t been smelling what he thought was Lorcan’s scent. It was the Amortentia manifesting itself in that intoxicating combination, revealing to him exactly how hard he had fallen for Lorcan Salvaterre.

Rowan stood on shaky legs, trying to keep himself together long enough to escape the oppressiveness of their hideaway. “I need some air,” he said, lingering just long enough in the doorway to see Aelin offer him a gentle, reassuring smile. Thankfully, the balcony just down the hall was abandoned. No one in their right mind would choose to be outside in this weather. Snow landed in thick, wet flakes on the fabric of Rowan’s robe, the cold air stinging against any exposed skin.

Shivering, he tucked his hands into the pockets of his robe.

That was the danger of Amortentia. It revealed things you weren’t quite ready to admit to yourself or others. Things Rowan tried not to think about.

He thought he was hallucinating, still under the spell of the love potion when he smelled cedar. The single utterance of his name told him no, this was not some cruel fantasy of his mind.

“Rowan,” Lorcan said for a second time, his voice soft. He leaned on the railing next to Rowan, snowflakes settling in his dark hair. And on his lowered eyelashes. “Do you want me to leave you alone?”

The “No” was so quiet it was a wonder anyone without hypersensitive hearing could hear it. But the snow dampened the noise surrounding them. Lorcan’s lips twitched, like he was trying to bite down a smile or a smirk. Inside Rowan’s robe, he waved his wand in small motions, creating a thin column of snow that snaked down the collar of Lorcan’s robe and sent it crashing against his bare spine.

Lorcan yelped, his back arching in an attempt to rid his skin of the melting snow. He whirled around with an emotion in his eyes Rowan couldn’t quite place. It felt like fury, but there was a glimmer there that said amusement. “You think that’s funny, Whitethorn?” Lorcan growled low, backing Rowan up against the ice-cold brick. The cold seeped through his robe, snow melting in his hair.

Grabbing ahold of the blue and bronze fabric of Rowan’s tie, Lorcan tugged. It forced Rowan to stand on his toes so he wouldn’t be choked. Lorcan leaned over him, even still with Rowan on his toes, forcing him to lean against the wall for support.

“If this is about the Amortentia, it doesn’t always work. We could’ve done something wrong and so the results weren’t true and … why are you staring at me like that?” Rowan huffed, their breath steaming in the air.

“You know, for someone so smart, you are so fuckin dense,” Lorcan chuckled. “This isn’t about the stupid love potion.” Rowan’s mouth opened and closed, at a complete loss for words. “Will you stop gaping like a fish so I can kiss you properly?” Rowan nodded, just a little nod. 

Then Lorcan Salvaterre was kissing him. And it was better than any dream.

He was gentle, his lips warm and soft despite their surroundings. Rowan fisted his hands in the front of Lorcan’s thick Slytherin sweater, letting the other boy kiss him sweetly in the falling snow. Lorcan tasted like coffee and chocolate. A small moan escaped Rowan and Lorcan chuckled, his chest rumbling from where it was pressed against Rowan’s.

All too soon, Lorcan was pulling away, holding out a hand. “Come on, Ro. It’s too damn cold. Let’s go inside.” His cheeks were flushed from the cold. Rowan took the boy’s hand, relishing how natural it felt to lace their fingers together. The smile that stretched across his features wasn’t under his control, neither was the burning in his cheeks as Lorcan stopped outside the door and kissed him again.

When they stepped inside, the chatter stopped. Aelin cocked her head, asking _Well?_ Rowan nodded and she grinned, standing to pull a bottle of firewhiskey from a secret rack behind the bookshelf.

“A toast to the two idiots who finally realised they’re in love with each other, with the help of a forbidden love potion!” Aelin shouted. Rowan shook his head in exasperation, surprised by Lorcan kissing him in front of all of their friends while simultaneously flipping them off.


End file.
